Wait and See
by likemoves
Summary: Étienne St. Clair's senior year as told from his point of view.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** No copyright infringement is intended. If you have not purchased and read Anna and The French Kiss, you should do so now!

I appreciate all the views and reviews. Although I started writing this over two years ago, I still come back to it and revise it, wanting to flesh out more details and go further into St. Clair's story and his POV. These revisions are noted at the top of the chapters where they occur.

The below chapter was revised in September 2013.

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><p>My father had married beneath his social class.<p>

That's what my grandparents always told me.

You see, they never liked my mum. She was an American, an artist, and worst of all to them, a commoner. She was everything that offended their aristocratic sensibilities.

Naturally, this appealed to my father, who at one time loved nothing more than to cause a stir. They had met in San Francisco, where my father had been "sorting himself out," as my grandfather would say. My father was attracted to her art, her ability to do as she pleased – because it was a concept so utterly foreign to his upbringing.

They eloped in the spring of 1992 and, by the fall, they had me, their first and only child. Despite their disdain for my father's choices, my grandparents were thrilled to finally have a grandchild – and they spared us no expense. They funded my father's first art gallery in Paris, where we lived while I was a child, and then funded another in London, where we lived as I approached adolescence.

Their wealth soon became our wealth and, from the outside, we seemed like the perfect family. But we were far from it. My father was rarely home and, when he was, there were arguments – always. There were the drawn-out battles with his parents, the closed-door ones with mum, and the condescending screaming matches with me.

It was a living nightmare.

When I was 12, my parents finally separated. I had assumed things would get better, but they didn't. I was forced to stay in London with my father and grandparents while my mum went back to San Francisco, a complete shell of herself. I tried to busy myself with school and my mates, but it was hard to ignore all the whispers that followed me after my parents split.

Rich kids can be quite cruel.

By eighth grade, I was determined to escape to San Francisco – but it was different kind of terrible there. I had spent so much time overseas, surrounded by wealth and privilege, that I came across as a complete alien to my public school classmates. It was impossible to fit in, but nothing could be done. My mother couldn't afford private school and my father and his family refused to pay for one in the States.

I'm certain it was part of my father's grand plan to keep control over our lives, despite his distance. As it was, he'd come to San Francisco every few months, sleep in my mum's room, and disappear again. He had, and still has, this odd control over her – and she can't seem to break away.

I suspect my mum still loves him, which is more than I can say for the man. He's a complete bastard. He controls nearly every aspect of my life when he's around and makes decisions for me that I rarely agree with.

At least I get a respite sometimes.

You see, I learned from the best – or worst, as it were. As a child, I watched my father charm people into giving him what he wanted. A shrug here, a grin there. That's all it really took.

And once I grew a bit – right before starting high school at School of America in Paris (SOAP), the charm and confidence I gained worked amazingly well for me. I was not tall, sure, but I was no longer a runt. I knew how to get what I wanted – even if, below the surface, I didn't always think I deserved it.

Sometimes, though, it took persistence – like at the start of my junior year, when I developed an embarrassingly huge crush on Ellie Kensington, a gorgeous, artistic senior from one of New York's most prestigious families. Her best friend that year was Rashmi Devi, whom I count among my closest friends at SOAP, so she started to be around quite often.

Ellie and I also became close rather quickly, though not in the way you think. She saw me as a chum, someone to whom she could confess the ongoing dramas of her family. It was something I understood rather well. They were, by most indications, rather insane – but also very wealthy, far wealthier than my own family.

Ellie knew she had to be careful to maintain the façade.

Bowing to pressure from her mother, she started dating in Paris. She'd choose these older men who always had some sort of intellectual aspiration. They were always funded by their family's wealth and they loved nothing more than to have an equally rich, gorgeous 18-year-old by their side.

I still remember when she introduced me to the last of her older academic philosopher types – Jean-Louis Gagnon, the most pretentious man I'd ever met in Paris, which is saying something. We ran into each other at a café close to SOAP and, if he had stayed but a minute more than necessary, I probably would've pummeled him.

"So what do you think?" Ellie asked, twirling her long brunette locks with her fingers. "Isn't great that he's going to be published?"

"_Self_-published," I said. "No self-respecting publishing house would actually pay for such rubbish."

"Come on," she said, her voice pleading. "You're just jealous."

I chuckled. "A little bit, yeah," I said, biting my thumb.

"I know you're dying to write a book one day," she said. "Like one of those boring historical books you've always got your nose in, right?"

"That's not why I'm jealous," I replied. "I'm jealous of him, of all of them, for not realizing what a great girl they have."

Her eyes grew wide. I always supported her, but I had never before had the courage to even imply how I felt.

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I just…didn't know."

She looked down at me, as if I had the answer for her. And in a way, I did.

"All of these blokes just see you as some sort of prize," I said. "They don't recognize how smart, beautiful, and talented you are. You should be cared for, you should be – "

And just like that, she kissed me. It was the type of kiss that invited more, the type that would drive any 17-year-old bloke insane with desire. It was…perfection.

Ellie and I have been together ever since then – about a year now, actually. When my grandparents first found out (from my father, surely), they were thrilled to learn of my proper girlfriend from a proper family. They seemed overly concerned that I might repeat my father's supposed mistakes – especially after my own San Francisco rebellion three years earlier.

But to be honest, I could care less about Ellie's background or wealth. All I care about is that I'm no longer alone in Paris. That no matter how bad things get here, I have Ellie – someone who always makes me feel better, someone who always wants me around, someone whom I truly love.

I don't think I could ever be without that.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've revised to include a lot more exposition here. Anna only gives us part of the story about Meredith, Rashmi, and Josh – but since St. Clair's known them longer, I thought it'd be fun to explore how they became friends and other tidbits Anna would have no way of knowing.

_Arrivée à Paris, Senior Year_

In our small boarding school of one hundred American students, it's quite difficult to blend in – especially when you've got a French name and an English accent. Everyone here knows practically everyone else's business. It's almost inevitable given that we live in such close quarters, supported by what are perhaps the thinnest walls this side of the Atlantic.

Nonetheless, it's always made me a bit wary. Most people here would say that I'm friendly, polite, and that I get along well with others. And that's largely true. I don't like to cause trouble – I've dealt with enough of that at home.

But there are only three people I can truly count here as my friends – Meredith, Rashmi, and Josh.

Meredith and I have been friends since our first year here. We are unlikely mates – she plays football whereas I can barely understand it – but we bonded quickly over our shared interest in art and getting away from SOAP whenever possible. We work hard, but we like to have a bit of fun, too. Like me, she was completely fluent in French when she showed up, which meant we could be a bit more adventurous with our excursions in the city. We've ended up in all sorts of places – absinthe bars, burlesque shows, trashy rock clubs near the _banlieues_. If you ever met her, you would never guess that Mer would enjoy any of that, but she's more complicated than her prim-and-proper exterior would suggest.

Rashmi started joining us on our excursions during our second year – right after her older sister, Leela, graduated from SOAP. Rash went from shy and reserved to cynical and outspoken practically overnight. She's incredibly loyal and will fight you – and for you – to the end. We're quite similar that way.

Josh, Rashmi's boyfriend, couldn't be any more different from me. He's all about his art whereas I only wish I could be, but I'm simply not that good enough. Although he's the son of a U.S. senator, he's always relaxed and doesn't let things bother him. It's like he's immune to pressure. Mer jokes that we secretly admire each other – and when we're all out on the streets of Paris – Josh and I sometimes play that up for the girls until they fall into hysterics.

This year, Josh, Rashmi, Meredith, and I will all be living in the same residence – Résidence Lambert. I originally was supposed to move in with Ellie, who will be studying photography at Parsons a few _arrondissements_ away, but SOAP strictly forbids off-campus housing. They claim it's for our safety, but I suspect it's more for financial reasons.

Besides, they let us leave whenever we want for as long as we want.

I suppose it could be worse, though. I could be forced to stay here at my father's apartment for the entire year. It's an exceptional place – far more exceptional in size and stature than mum's place in San Francisco – but it's incredibly cold and unwelcoming.

"_Ca va_, _Monsieur _St. Clair?" Yolande, my father's maid, asks through the guest room door. "_Êtes-vous malade_?"

"_Non_," I respond. "_Je suis simplement fatigué_. _Le vol était tellement longue._"

"_Alors, d'accord_," she says. "_Je laisse du lait, du fromage, et des fruits dans le frigo. Bonne soirée, Monsieur_."

"_Merci_," I say. "_Bonsoir_."

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><p>My suitcase wakes me up at 5 a.m. the next morning – or rather, the incessant buzzing from my mobile <em>in <em>my suitcase.

"Christ," I mutter. "Who's calling at this hour?"

I begrudgingly get up and see there's a new text message from Ellie. "7 more sleeps," it reads.

I laugh. She never remembers the time difference. "Feels more like 70," I text back.

"It'll be worth the wait," Ellie responds.

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><p>Several hours later, I'm on the metro to Lambert, bags in tow. My thoughts, my interactions – everything is in a fluid French.<p>

As I navigate the city, it strikes me that, no matter how little Paris feels like home to me, it somehow makes me feel like I belong to it. No one knows me as "that English guy" or mocks me for my American slang like they do in San Francisco and London. They just presume I'm an average French bloke going about my day.

It's kind of nice, actually.

When I arrive at Lambert, it's completely, utterly quiet. My boots snap against the marble floor and I wonder, briefly, whether anyone has arrived. I make my way up the staircase toward Meredith's new floor, because if anyone is here yet, it would be her.

"I'm fine," Mer says, her voice echoing down the hall. "_Yes_, everything arrived here. _No_, the rooms are the same as before."

Mer must be on the phone with her family. It's the only time she sounds vaguely irritated – although, secretly, I'm sometimes jealous of her situation. Her parents are still together, happily, after 20 years, and they're all rather close. They call her constantly, though more out of interest than wanting to control her life.

I follow her voice to her room when – _bam!_

"Sorry!" a female voice says. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were here."

I shake my head, a bit startled, and see a stripe of platinum hair in front of me. It's attached to a tall, slender girl, with dark brown hair and startling blue eyes. She's all worry and confusion in front of me.

"It's okay," I say, my breath catching slightly. "I didn't see you either. Are you all right, then?"

Her pale face flushes from my gaze, and I can't help but smirk a bit at her awkwardness. She clearly has no idea how attractive she is.

"I'm An-na!," she shouts. "I'm new here!"

Oh, right. Number 25. The student Mer and Rash wouldn't stop texting about over the summer. They were convinced she would be a spoiled princess with an unfortunate drug habit. She doesn't quite look the type.

"Étienne," I say. "I live a floor up."

It's really Étienne Jean François Alexandre St. Clair –but Christ, I'd sound like a pretentious arse if I ever said that. As it is, people just call me by my last name, because, as Josh says, _everyone thinks you're just so gosh darn likeable! _ He claims I'm like a star quarterback, but I'm certain blokes of my short stature and slight build never are.

Strange how I haven't thought of myself like that in a while. Oh, that's right. New attractive, taller girl in front of me. That'll do it.

"I live here," Anna says, pointing at the door next to Mer's.

She looks flustered, confused even. I find myself feeling oddly the same, though I suspect I'm hiding it much better than her.

"Well," I say, knocking at Meredith's door. "I'll see you around then, Anna."

She turns away to get her keys as Meredith bursts through her door, hugging me like I've been gone forever.

"Come in!" she says, cradling her mobile to her ear. "How was your flight? When'd you get here? Mom, I've got to go."

She snaps her phone shut and closes the door behind us. We talk and laugh as I will myself not to think of the girl falling asleep next door.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Revised September 2013. The revisions establish more why St. Clair becomes attracted to Anna and set up the conflict he's starting to feel between her and Ellie.

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><p><em>Deuxième semaine, Paris<em>

The first week back goes as expected. Rashmi teases me mercilessly for my perpetual tardiness, but I'm still getting accustomed to having a fixed schedule again. I'm definitely more of a night owl than an early bird, as they say.

Ellie is arriving in Paris today. I've gone practically mad waiting for her return. It's gotten so bad that I've found my thoughts occupied by someone else – Anna, the new girl.

Anna's slowly becoming a part of our group. (I guess I can thank Meredith and her welcoming bandwagon for that.) And Anna's proximity at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner, at practically every single class I'm in – well, it's making life at SOAP a bit more difficult for me.

I'm sure she hasn't noticed. In fact, I don't think anyone's noticed except Josh. He says it's cool, though. He says thinks about other girls constantly, even though he's with Rashmi.

Well, right, of course. I mean, Anna is an incredibly attractive girl – there's no question of that. I suppose that's part of the reason (okay, maybe _a lot _of the reason) that I find myself thinking of her so often.

But there's something more, too. Anna's smart, feisty, and doesn't back down from a debate. A lot of girls agree with everything I say – but not her.

I like that.

She's also incredibly, terribly scared about being in Paris. I mean, absolutely petrified. It's not a trait that I like, really, but it's one that makes me feel something a bit, well, more toward her. Like I want to protect her and show her that she's going to survive this year just like the rest of us.

I'd also like to do a few other things I'm sure would make her blush an incredible shade of red, but…_Christ_. I really do need to stop rambling about her, don't I?

I blast my iPod and get out of bed, changing into my Napoleon shirt, jeans, and boots. The sound muffles most of the idiotic conversation that my neighbors, Dave and Mike, are having about the freshman class – specifically, the girls.

They make my thoughts about Anna seem positively G-rated.

I will myself to think of Ellie, my _girlfriend_ (because that's what she is), and set in motion our reunion plan. The _RER_ is on strike (again) so I run down the stairs and hire a taxi to DeGaulle. We fly through the city and arrive in record time. I give the driver his fare and begin the long journey into the terminal. It's the usual chaotic scene, with people pushing and laughing and bickering all around.

And then Ellie comes into view – and my thoughts of Anna fall completely away.

She's struggling near the baggage claim with her Longchamp suitcases. Her hair cascades around her shoulders, gorgeously disheveled like it always is whenever I've been with her – the way I've missed so much this summer.

Her smooth white tank, black schoolboy shorts, and cowboy-style boots leave little to the imagination. As usual, she's the centre of attention – and back to the centre of mine, too.

My heartbeat quickens as I pull out my mobile.

_Napoleon at 6 o'clock_, I text.

Her purse vibrates and she opens it to check her mobile. Her exasperation turns to exhilaration as she lays her eyes on me.

"St. Clair!" she screams. I laugh and she runs up to me, dropping her bags. She wraps her arms around me and we kiss with such urgency that my mind practically goes blank.

"Welcome back, Ellen."

"Hmmm," she says, breaking away. "Thanks, babe. You won't believe how crazy that flight was – so many kids screaming!"

"Was it because they thought you were a cowgirl?"

She laughs. "Oh, you know," she says. "Just changing things up a bit. Making that wait worth your while."

My eyes widen at her suggestion. "Oh?" I mischievously ask, picking up her bags. "What d'you have in mind?"

"Things."

"Ah, yes," I say. "Those dreaded _things_."

She gives me a wicked grin as we run through the terminal toward to the cabs all sweaty and out of breath. Ellie directs our driver to her new address.

"We'll have so much more privacy at my place," she says, sliding in the backseat. "It's going to be great."

I nod and follow her close behind. We sit together, silently, as we pass through the _banlieues. _I suddenly feel her turn and feel her hands drift down my torso. She rests her head on my chest and fidgets with the button on my trousers.

"I'm so happy to be with you again," she whispers. I glance down, watching her chest rise and fall, and feel her heart pound against my own.

"I'm glad to have you back," I say.

I kiss the top of her forehead and she gazes up, her eyes tell me everything I need to know.

_Plusieurs semaines plus tard _

Reuniting with Ellie was amazing, awesome, even. But it's been a bit short-lived.

Yes, these days, I'm afraid I'm a bit of a double agent– and I'm not even sure how it happened.

I spend my evenings with Ellie, just like last year, but now we've got some company. Ellie has a bunch of new mates at Parsons and there I am, being dragged along to all their shows and parties.

It's always the same scene. Pretentious blokes everywhere. Young ingénues abound. The most insufferable conversations you can imagine – fueled by booze and pills. And, of course, I can't escape any of it, since they all know who my father is and want in on his gallery.

As if I had any say in his business!

Naturally, I detest all of this, but Ellie adores it. She says it's…invigorating.

The only time I feel like I'm truly with her is when we're back at her place, in the late night, in bed together. She says and does all the right things and I feel for her like I've always felt for her.

Until the next day, of course.

That's when my "normal" life occurs, in the mornings and afternoons, when I have classes and homework and the usual high school routine.

Though I don't like admitting it, I almost prefer this life now. It all seems so easy, so effortless. The classes are still interesting. My mates are still the best. And all the little dramas in our small school are just as ridiculous as they've always been.

There's just one thing, though. Well, a person, really.

_Anna._

If I thought it was bad before, well, I clearly didn't know how much worse it was going to get. I find myself flirting with Anna constantly. I've even taken her on a tour of my favorite things in Paris…just because I could.

It feels so blatant that I'm waiting for someone – most likely Rashmi – to just call me out on it.

But no one has. Not yet, anyway.

So I've made a deal with myself. I tell myself I can think about Anna during the day, but as soon as I'm with Ellie, I have to stop.

Sometimes, it works – but I find the more I get to know Anna, the harder it becomes.

I can barely wait until the next time I see her. I'm terrified that, one night, I'll just blurt out "Anna!" when I'm in bed with Ellie.

It goes against everything I've ever believed about relationships – but there it is. The worst possible scenario.

No wonder I can't sleep anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Last updated June 2013.

_A la fin du septembre_

"Étienne! How are you, _mon chèr?_" my mum says on the phone from San Francisco.

"I'm all right," I say, my voice as quiet as possible. I know if I speak any louder, she'll know immediately that something's wrong. "How are you?"

"Good, good," she says. "Just finishing some new pieces. The neighborhood is having an open studio event next week."

"That's great, mum," I say. "I'm sure it'll be brilliant."

"Thanks," she says. "I certainly hope so! By the way, have you heard from your father lately?"

"I think he's in London," I say. "Not sure."

I hate when she asks me about him. She knows exactly where he probably is. It breaks my heart that she still depends on him – because she deserves so much better.

"I see," she says. "Well, you've been awfully quiet lately."

"Don't you enjoy my emails?" I joke. "I put a lot of time and effort into those."

"Of course I do!" she says. "But I like to hear your voice more."

"I'm sorry, mum," I say. "I should be better about that. Things have been really insane here."

"I thought so," she says. "It's so unlike you to not call for a few weeks."

Suddenly I find myself confessing everything to my mum about my new double life. I leave some bits out – my mum's not naïve, she can fill in the blanks herself – but it feels good to finally tell someone the entire story.

When I finish, I feel a sense of relief.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, honey," she says. "I know it probably feels like the end of the world right now. And I know your father and his parents really like Ellie a lot, but you _do_ have a choice, dear."

"But what if she doesn't want me, mum?"

"You shouldn't doubt yourself, Étienne," she says. "Sometimes you just have to take a chance."

I smile to myself. Only a mum could say that so confidently, as if there were no potential complications or mishaps to be had.

"I'll think about it, mum."

"I hope you do," she says. "And Étienne?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful out there. If that scene is anything like it was years ago, it's not something I want a son of mine caught up in. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good night, Étienne. Love you."

"Love you too, mum."

_Plusieurs semaines plus tard_

To my own surprise, I've actually started to follow some of mum's advice. I'm replacing the endless Parsons parties with something a bit more my style – the cinema. It doesn't hurt, of course, that it's now one of Anna's favorite things to do in Paris.

We sit in silence, in the dark, for several hours at a time. I've started playing a dangerous game with myself – seeing how close I can get to touching her without actually touching her. I enjoy torturing myself, clearly.

Last week, I mustered up the courage to rest my leg against hers, just to see how it felt. I watched ever so slightly as her breath quickened and her skin flushed.

Nothing I had ever seen in the cinema had ever turned me on quite like that.

It gave me a strange sense of hope, an odd feeling that, with just a bit more courage, I could say something to her and we could be together.

But then my father came back to town and made it quite clear that Ellie and I are to be together.

Ellie's becoming less the gorgeous _artiste_ I fell in love with and more the New York party girl her family name almost destines her to be. Apparently I'm the only one bothered by it. When we all went out together for coffee last week, I lost count of how many times my father said _beau_ and _belle_ and _magnifique _to her.

Ellie falls so easily for his charm, so much like everyone else. She even promised to introduce my father to Kensington family contacts in New York who are looking to work with new galleries overseas. _Can you imagine?_

When she excused herself to take a call, my father started with his usual complaints.

"Have you even started applying for university yet?" he said in French. "You're going to have to make some effort to get in here. I can't do everything for you."

"Right," I say. "Because I'm not smart and no university will ever take me."

"You're lazy is what you are," he said. "You should be lucky a girl like Ellie even bothers with you. She could do a lot better."

_You have got to be fucking kidding me. _

At least Anna doesn't know my father or any of the nonsense Ellie's pulling these days.

Her problems are practically cute by comparison.

I find her on an early October evening in the French classroom, muttering alone to herself. She's all "argh" and "umm" and I'd almost think she was mad if I didn't know her.

"Are you all right?"

She looks up at me, startled.

"I'd be a lot better if I didn't have to take this French class."

I sit down next to her. "Let me see," I say, glancing over her work. "Okay, so it's the verb être. It doesn't follow any rule or pattern."

"Ugh, French is impossible," she says, with an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm sure you can do it," I say. "You just got to give it a chance."

She gives me a doubtful look.

"Here, repeat after me," I say. "Je suis…"

"Je soo-ey?"

"Je suis…"

"Je sue…"

I chuckle a bit and she thwacks my shoulder.

"Stop laughing!" she says. "It's totally _not _funny."

But her eyes light up anyway.

"All right," I say. "Let's try a different way. Watch my lips."

I say the conjugation again in slow motion as her gaze fixes on my mouth.

"Répète, Mademoiselle Oliphant."

"Je suis," she says with more conviction.

"I can't hear you."

"Je SUIS," she says.

"Plus forte!"

"JE SUIS!," she yells and I nearly fall off my chair. We keep going until Anna's practically lost her voice shouting irregular verb conjugations.

"Well," I say, doubled over in laughter. "I don't think they've heard you on the 6th floor."

"They better have heard that all the way outside," she whispers, wrapping her hand around her now sore throat.

"We'll have to aim for that next time," I say.

"I'd like that," she whispers, blushing.

I don't know if it's her voice or her look or _something_, but I'm suddenly consumed by this great desire to kiss her. Right there. In the classroom. Where just about anyone could discover us.

_No. No, no, no._

I turn away quickly and move to leave.

"Right, well," I say. "I trust you've got the rest of this covered, then?"

"When I get my voice back," she whispers. "Thanks for your help, St. Clair."

"Not a problem," I say.

She gives me a weird glance, like she's disappointed, but I'm already out the door.

_That was close. Much too close. _

To my surprise, Ellie's outside, waiting for me, as I approach Lambert. _Oh fuck, what time is it?_

"Hey, there you are!" she says, bringing herself in for a kiss. "We've got the dinner tonight with Mathieu and Laure, remember? And then the party after, of course, at that new installation in the 19th."

"Yes, of course," I say. "I just got a bit caught up in some work."

And Anna. And I have no bloody idea who Mathieu and Laure are. _Am I supposed to know?_

"It's all right," she says. "They'll probably be late anyway. They always are."

"Just like me, then," I say, grinning. I can't stop myself from acting around her.

"Almost," she says, laughing. "So Mathieu does a lot of print work, and Laure's been helping him expanding online. I don't know why more of us aren't using social media to grow our work, you know? There's just so much opportunity – "

Ellie continues but I'm barely paying attention. I know we're going to places most people would absolutely die to get into, but I don't want that. I don't want that at all.

I just want to go back to Anna and take her out for crèpes – something amazing, something effortless, just like her.

I want to take her back to my room and stay there until the sun rises and we can barely move.

But the way things are now – I worry these things will only happen in my mind.

Never in reality.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Minor revisions made September 2013.

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><p><em>À la fin du octobre<em>

My mum was right.

My relationship with Ellie – or lack thereof – is not the end of the world. Neither are my feelings for Anna.

No, the end of the world is knowing that your mum has cancer and that there's nothing you can do about it.

Not when she needs care and money only your bastard father can provide – and only under the terms he sets. Like ordering you to stay in Paris, away from your dying mother, because school is more important than the potential last days, months, of her life.

Right.

I feel like I'm ready to kill him by the time Josh and I get to the bar, mere hours after my mum called to deliver the horrible news.

We've decided on an English ex-pat spot near campus, where patrons are shouting at various English Premier League matches. It's an oddly comforting reminder of London, the second home I still sometimes miss, even if I don't like sport.

As we sit down, I'm thankful we broke away from the girls. They all gave me these pitying looks when I nearly fainted at the news at _Père Lachaise_. I couldn't take it – seeing the pain I felt mirrored back at me – and ran as fast as I could out of there, with Josh not far behind.

"I can't fucking believe this," I say, drinking from my Guinness. "This is so typical of him."

"I can't either," Josh says. "It's really fucked up."

"To bastard fathers," I say, clanging my glass against Josh's.

"Don't I know it," he says. He talks about his own father, a U.S. Senator, whom he hasn't even spoken to since school has started. Josh's mother's not much better. His entire family is as obsessed with keeping up appearances as my father's.

We keep ordering rounds. By midnight, the alcohol has numbed me enough that I've almost forgotten why I'm here. Josh, too. We sing along, terribly off-key, to the booming soundsystem. People have started to join us.

"Sing it, St. Clair!" Josh wails. A One Direction song is playing and he's practically in hysterics.

"I'm not Harry what's-his-name," I sing-song.

"But you have his hair," Josh sings back.

I try to shove him but miss terribly, nearly falling off the chair. As I try to steady myself, I see a tall-ish girl with dark brown hair near Josh.

"Anna?"

Josh turns around. "Where?"

"That girl there, in the blue dress."

"Not even close, St. Clair," Josh says, laughing. "Wow…You've got it real bad."

"Shut up," I say. "I don't have anything for anyone."

"Keep telling yourself that," Josh says.

We down more beers. Someone calls for shots.

"Take me to her," I say, downing my last shot of Jäger.

"I'm taking you to Ellie," Josh says. "'s where you need tobe to-night."

"No," I say. "Don't want to."

"Did you call her yet?" Josh asks.

"Yeah, after speaking to the bastard, " I say. "Left a message, but she's too busy being a slutty nurse."

"Ha!" Josh says. "I knew it!"

"Piss off," I say. "Be a friend and take me to Ah-nuh."

"I don't think iss good idea," he says. "Rash will kill me."

"She won't carrrre," I say. "I'm more _pissed_ than you anyway."

Josh debates aloud what he should do. The room suddenly feels hotter, louder. The room spins slightly, then faster, then slower again.

"Ahhh-nuuuh," I say. "Now!"

Josh puts down a bunch of Euros and pushes me off my chair. We stagger into the night, swaying back and forth, as tears start to sting my eyes in anger.

So much for the numbing properties of booze.

A half-hour later, we arrive at Lambert, stumbling loudly up to Anna's floor. I cling to the banister of the staircase – the only thing that's keeping me upright.

"If Rash actually does kill me," Josh says. "You are sooooo getting blamed."

"But who will blame me?" I ask, grasping at the walls. "You'll be dead, right?"

"Pissssof," he says.

"Don't steal…my lines….maaaaate" I say, pulling myself up that final stair.

We arrive at Anna's door, still bickering. Neither of us bothers to knock. It doesn't matter, though, since we've made enough commotion to interrupt whatever it was she was doing in there.

She opens the door, her face pale in shock. "Jesus," she says. "Where have you been? You guys reek."

"Sorry," Josh says, dragging me inside. "He said wehadtuh comeup 'ere."

What happened next, well….I don't remember.

* * *

><p><em>Au début du novembre<em>

"You were really drunk," Josh says a few days later at Breakfast in America on _rue des Écoles_. "I mean, really, really drunk."

"I gathered that," I say, drowning my pancakes in imitation maple syrup. "Weren't you as well?"

"Yes," he says. "But I have a higher tolerance than you. So I can actually remember that night."

"That's bollocks," I say.

"All right, then," he says. "Tell me what you said to Anna."

Fuck. I remember we went to her room and ended up waking up the next day in my bed, more hungover than I've ever been.

"Conjugations," I say. "I've been helping her out with irregular verb conjugations."

Josh laughs. "You wish," he says. "You told her that you liked her."

"And?" I say. "She's a good friend."

"You told her you liked as _more_ than a friend."

I give Josh a blank stare. _I couldn't have said that. Could I?_ Oh fuck. _Fuck fuck fuck._

"Calm down, St. Clair," he says. "There are children around here."

A young father gives me a dirty look, covering his daughter's ears. I mouth an apology. I had no idea I'd started speaking aloud but, given the circumstances, I don't think it can be helped.

"Did she…say anything?" I say.

Josh pauses, looking thoughtful, almost. "She said something about Ellie."

"Of course she did," I say, somewhat bitterly.

"Hey, don't look like that," Josh says. "It's not all bad. I mean, you threw up on her before she really had a chance to say much more."

I wince. Anna has a whole arsenal of cleaning product in her room. And now I've apparently vomited on the biggest neat-freak I know. _Nice one, Etienne. _

"Well, this is worse than what I thought happened," I say. "Much, much worse."

"You know she likes you," Josh says. "Hell, we all know she likes you."

"I'll admit," I say. "I sometimes think she does. But then she talks about that bloke back home sometimes. The one with horrific sideburns."

Josh laughs. "He's not here," he says. "You are. Things change."

"Yeah, but – there's my mum, my father," I say.

"Stop making excuses," Josh says. "Just _do_ something about it."

"I can't," I say. "If I break up with Ellie, my father will be furious. And when he's furious, he does completely irrational things. Things like taking away money from us. And we can't afford that right now, not with mum being so ill."

Josh is quiet for a few moments. I fidget with the sugar packs, uncomfortable at the direction our conversation has gone.

"Wow," he says finally. "He's more fucked up than I thought."

I nod. "Yeah," I say. "He is."

As I finish my meal, my mobile vibrates with a new message.

-_Come over?_

It's from Ellie.

-_Be there soon. _

That's how it has to be.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: I made some revisions to this chapter in January 2012. The most notable, if you've read it before, is toward the beginning. I've imagined St. Clair's depression to be far greater than what Anna explained – and that he kept it hidden from most of the people around him.

The shock is gone.

The unpleasant reality of mum's condition remains.

My room's a disaster. I want to do nothing and avoid everything. For the first time in my life, I'm ditching class – regularly – and my grades are failing. Sometimes I just spend hours, staring at my computer, going through old photos of mum and me and all the little trips and excursions we used to take together while father was away.

Everything feels so pointless now.

Ellie and I don't really talk about it. I've tried a few times, but she always changes the subject. Those stupid parties are almost a welcome distraction now – and, sometimes, when we're both pissed, we'll end up having sex there, in some closet or abandoned room. It's the only thing that makes me feel alive, the only thing that makes me forget – if only for few moments – why I'm even here.

Anna and I talk only briefly these days, but we've stopped going to the cinema together like we used to. Sometimes, we laugh a bit together, but most days, I feel absolutely horrible just looking at her.

I'm not brave enough to choose her. It's just too complicated.

Besides, Anna denied that I ever said anything about my feelings for her on Halloween. And I know it happened. Josh wouldn't lie to me. _So why is she lying to me?_

Maybe I've misread this whole thing. Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see and was betrayed by the illusions I'd created in my mind.

_Ugh_.

To make matters worse, I'm stuck here in Paris for Thanksgiving, while my father is in San Francisco. Of course it angers me – I mean, he doesn't even celebrate the damn thing _nor is he even married to mum anymore_.

_Christ. _

My father refused to let me go because of my failing grades, which SOAP was kind enough to inform him about a few weeks back. Clearly they didn't know who they were dealing with. I could have told him why that happened – and how it was all his fault, anyway – but I've lost my interest in fighting with him.

The stakes are too high now.

So here I am, alone, in bed, attempting to sleep – while everyone else is half a world away. _One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand._

My half-awake state is soon interrupted by surprise holiday greetings.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you!" Anna sings outside my door. "Happy Thanksgiving to youuu! Happy Thanks-giv-ing, St. Cla-aair –"

I look at my clock. Yep. It's definitely Thanksgiving morning. But why is Anna still here?

I stumble toward my door and open it. She's been here before, but it feels strangely intimate this time. My room, my demeanor – everything's gone straight to hell.

"Stop. Singing," I say. I am in no mood for merriment or cheer, even from her.

"Did you know today is a holiday?" she asks.

"I heard," I say. She walks inside my room, observing the mess. I flop myself back onto my bed, burying myself in my pillow, but she eventually screams at me, shocking me out of all-consuming depression.

I clean myself up, tidy the room a bit, and head out to explore the city with her once again. We explore the Pantheon and manage to find a Thanksgiving-style dinner at what may be the only restaurant in Paris to serve such things.

It makes Anna so happy that I almost feel happy myself.

"I'm really glad you dragged me out," I say, finally, as we sit down.

"It was nothing," she says. "Besides, what else were you going to do all day?"

"Reading," I say. "Lots and lots of reading."

"And miss out on turkey and stuffing and apple pie?" she asks. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

"It was the only one I had," I say.

We continue talking as if nothing's changed, as if we are, just as we were, when we first met. Our server arrives some time latter, setting down our sparkling juice and turkey dinners. _What a combination. _

"To the successful locating of a proper turkey dinner in Paris," I say, raising my glass to hers.

"To your mom," she says.

I'm taken aback. I'm incredibly touched Anna wants to include her in our celebrations – even with just a simple gesture.

"To mum," I say, and we toast.

Anna asks more questions about mum – about her care, treatment, and recovery. She's done research. _Research_. I suddenly feel more at ease with her, like I could tell her anything and she would be there regardless.

"It's been a difficult time, actually," I say. "I really don't know how to handle it."

Anna stares at me silently, her eyes thoughtful and questioning.

"Honestly," she says. "I don't know either. I'm really sorry I was so tough on you earlier, yelling at you like that. I just didn't know any other way to get through to you."

"It's all right," I say. "I'm glad of it, really. You were right – mum wouldn't want me sulking about on her account."

"Why don't you celebrate her instead?" she says, smiling. "I bet she wouldn't mind if you bragged about her to your friend Anna."

And so I begin the whole story – all the intricacies, all the things I've hid from nearly everyone in my life about my mum and my father and how everything came to be.

Anna listens and nods. No judgments made, no questions asked.

And as we walk off our dinner along the Seine, it hits me.

She's not just my friend. She's not just my crush.

She's the girl I'm in love with.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: If you've read this before, significant revisions were made to the beginning and ending of this chapter in January 2012.

Since Thanksgiving, Anna and I have been in our own world, oblivious to anything or anyone near by. Ever since we talked about mum, I've felt a lot better – and I don't want that feeling to end.

Even though I know it must.

It's Thanksgiving Sunday, the last day we have to ourselves before everyone returns. We've decided to make the most of it and grab baguette sandwiches from a _boulangerie_ in Montmartre. It's quite a distance from campus, but well worth the trek, especially as the tourists never come to this part.

"Where should we go tonight?" Anna asks between bites.

"Don't know," I say, wiping some brie from my lips. "There's a new Starbucks near _Théâtre de l'Odeon_ that I'm just dying to try. I hear it's brilliant."

"Right," she says. "There's nothing I want to spend 5 Euro on more than an overpriced milkshake."

"It's a _frappucino_, Anna," I say. "And you say you're American!"

She bats me with her free hand until I surrender.

"All right, all right!" I say. "There's this place near there, _L'avant comptoir_, that's supposed to have amazing takeaway crepes. _And_ there's a cinema right around the corner."

"You had me at crepes," she says, smiling.

After we finish our baguettes, we walk around Montmartre some more, past the local shops and strip clubs and enormous houses of Paris' most celebrated and reclusive residents. Anna snaps photos at every turn. It's sweet, seeing her all happy and excited, so unlike how I've felt these past few weeks.

As we wind our way back to the métro, we pass by _Le mur_ _des je t'aime _– the "I love you" wall. Dozens of happy tourist couples crowd around it, making my stomach turn queasy.

Anna laughs at the sight. "Oh God," she says. "I'm surprised my father hasn't asked me about this place before."

"Shall I take a photo then?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "I'll stand in front of it. He's always complaining about how I never send him photos of me here. I barely saw him when I was in Atlanta, but all the sudden he wants to know my every move – "

She hands me her camera.

"He _loves_ this type of sentimental crap," she says.

She turns to face me in front of the wall. Her eyes become more beautiful against the dark blue backdrop of the wall, momentarily distracting me from the task at hand.

"What are you waiting for?" she says.

"All right, all right," I say, finally gaining my composure again. "On the count of three. One, two – "

And then she breaks into the most ridiculous pose, like she's a fangirl at some boy band concert. We double over in laughter, recognizing the ridiculousness of it all.

"As funny…as that…_was_," I say, panting, "I'm sure your father wouldn't like it."

"Fine, fine," she says. "I'll do it right this time." 

"Okay," I say. _"Un_, _deux_, _trois_."

And then she flashes a look that nearly takes my breath away.

"I think we've got it," I say, looking at the screen on her camera.

"_Foto_? _Juntos?_" a voice says behind us.

"That's very nice," I say, turning to the voice. "But I think we're good here."

The older Spanish gentleman just stares at me, though I'm fairly certain he understood my 'no.'

"_Si_," Anna says, laughing. "_Foto_!"

She grabs my arm and drags me in front of the wall. I give her a questioning look, but she plays innocent.

"I swear," she says, whispering. "Those are two of the only words I remember from my Spanish classes."

"_Claro_," I say.

The man motions for us to move closer together. We do. Her hand hovers closely to mine, but something seems to hold her back from grasping it.

The flash goes off before us.

"_Que bueno foto_," the man says, handing Anna back her camera. She wanders off, taking a couple more closing shots. 

"Your girlfriend," he says. "_Muy bonita_. Very lucky."

_Christ_. I knew he knew what he was doing. I blush despite myself, thankful Anna can't see anything happening.

"_Gracias_," I mutter. I'm not about to argue with him.

I exit the park and find Anna taking photos of the Abbesses metro sign.

"You ready?" I ask.

"All set," she says, taking one last shot.

We stagger back to SOAP before midnight, still full from our late-night crèpes.

"Can't. Move. Further," Anna says as I open the door to Lambert.

"So there _is_ such a thing as too much Nutella," I say. "I knew it!"

"Never!" she says. "It's just – "

She stops and eyes the staircase – the one where I impulsively asked her two nights ago if I could spend the night with her, in her bed.

Because it's not cheating if I'm just sleeping there.

"I'll let you think about that _very_ important question while I go get ready for bed," I say, interrupting her thought. "Are you all right with that?"

She looks to me, hesitatingly. "Yes," she breathes. "See you soon."

I go to my room and put on my usual sleeping outfit for Anna. I usually sleep in less clothing, but it's positively freezing in there. Besides, the more clothing I have on, the less likely I am to make the move I so desperately want to make on her.

Because that would definitely be cheating.

I walk back down my hall, down the staircase to Anna's floor. She's already on her side of the bed when I arrive at her room.

"Hey," she whispers.

I nod, laying down so that our backs are turned toward each other. She's so close, yet so far away.

"Do you ever wonder – ?" she asks after a while.

_Oh fuck. No no no. Don't do this to me now. _

"–why Nutella tastes so much better here than it does back home?"

"I don't know," I say, holding back a sigh of relief. "Market differences, probably."

"Guess I'll have to smuggle some out of here for Christmas, then," she says.

"Right," I say. "You freak out if you're a minute late to class. And now you're going to smuggle things?"

She turns around, and I follow suit.

"I saw this documentary once, on BBC, about how U.S. customs has become really strict about Nutella smugglers," I say, trying to keep a straight face. "You could face secondary questioning, fines, all sorts of things."

"Now you're just being mean," she says.

"I am not!" I say. "It's a serious thing."

She raises an eyebrow, questioning me, and I break into laughter.

"Sorry, sorry," I say. "I couldn't help it."

She shoves my shoulder and I nearly fall off the bed. I grasp toward her, trying to pull myself back, and she startles. My hands cling tightly to her arms.

I don't want to let go.

We stare at each other, blankly, as if willing the other to make a move. I can't bring myself to do it. I take my hands off her and turn back around.

"We should probably be more careful," I say. "Neither of us needs to get hurt here."

"Right," she says. "Good night, St. Clair."

"Good night, Anna."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Significant revision in January 2012. If you've read this before, you'll see a new explanation for St. Clair's behavior toward Ellie in this scene and an expanded ending.

The acceptance letters have started to arrive. Everyone's getting into the universities they want, which – of course they are. Most everyone here is smart and ambitious and comes from loads of money.

But somehow that formula's not working for me. Because my father has confirmed that he wants me in Paris for university.

"You need to be speaking French more," he says by phone (in French, of course) from San Francisco. "Otherwise, you'll fall behind and get kicked out of university. I don't need you to be wasting your time on nonsense."

"_Oui_."

"And if you don't, you'll go to London and stay with your grandparents," he says. "You did send out those applications to the universities on that list I sent you, right? I told you to get on that months ago."

"_Oui, elles sont toutes faites_."

It's a partial truth. I've applied to the universities on my father's list _and_ Stanford and Berkeley, both of which are close to mum in San Francisco. I've already been accepted at Berkeley, but I haven't told anyone yet.

And I'm certainly not going to tell him now.

"_Ça va, _Ellie?" he asks, changing the subject.

"_Bien_," I lie. "_Elle est très occupée."_

The truth is, since Thanksgiving, everything's been terrible with Ellie. We don't go out as much as we used to, and when we do, we usually start arguing about some nonsense. She's starting to get suspicious about the time I spend with Anna, which is ridiculous considering how little Anna and I are speaking to each other these days.

Our Thanksgiving holiday, apparently, was just that – not our reality.

"Please thank Ellen again for her family's contacts," my father says. "They have been wonderful buyers for us."

"_Parfait_," I say, glancing at my watch. _Fuck_. I was supposed to be at Ellie's two hours ago.

"_Bon, faut que je vous laisse, père," _I say, telling him Ellie's waiting for me. "_Au revoir."_

"_Bonne soirée_," he says, as if he actually means it.

I click off my mobile and race toward the metro. I practically jump up the stairs at metro Dupleix as I make my way to Ellie's apartment.

The door is unlocked when I arrive.

"Hey, what took you so long?" she purrs.

She's on the sofa, wearing the black and ivory lingerie set I bought her for our six-month anniversary. She's as beautiful as ever, but something feels…different.

"Sorry," I say. "Work at school."

She doesn't respond. She just motions for me to come to her.

"It's been so long," she says as I follow her hand.

We start to kiss. My body knows what to do. My mind, though, does not. Ellie starts to disrobe and all I can think about is…Anna? _Christ, not now._

I start to panic.

"Put your clothes back on," I blurt.

I immediately want to take it back. But I can't.

"Fuck you!" she says, stunned. "I'm serious! Go fuck yourself."

She's screaming now, her eyes filled with tears. I just want to crawl under the sofa.

"Oh, that's right," she says. "That's all you're going to get anyway since you don't ever want to fuck me anymore."

The way she says fuck cuts right through me. It sounds so hateful, bitter. I might be a terrible boyfriend, but I've never acted that way toward her. Ever.

"Please, Ellie," I say. "I didn't mean it that way. I just can't – I'm dealing with a lot right now, all right? I mean, my dad…"

"Boo-fucking-hoo," she interrupts. "This has nothing to do with your father or even your mother. It has to do with…Anna."

"I told you, " I say calmly. "Anna and I just friends."

"Friends, of course," she says. "Tell me, have you kissed her, held her hand? I bet she'd really like that."

"She's been a good friend," I say, more deliberate this time. "So have Mer and Rash and Josh, for that matter. They're trying to help me through all these…difficulties."

She storms off the couch toward her bedroom. I follow behind. She yanks a robe from her door.

"Why is this always about you?" she asks, tying the robe tightly around her. "I have my own problems. I'm struggling just to get by here. Turns out university is ten times harder than high school. But I don't let any of that get in the way of seeing my own boyfriend."

Neither of us can support what the other wants, yet we've been together long enough that we don't know how to break away – even in our own wretched states.

"Maybe I should go," I finally say. "I'm really sorry, Ellie."

She pauses, her eyes burning in anger. "That's not enough anymore, don't you understand? Just get….just get…out of…here."

"I mean it, Ellie," I say. "You know this isn't me."

"You're right," she says. "I don't know who you are anymore."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Revisions made to the structure and introduction of this chapter in January 2012.

Ellie and I haven't spoken since that night two weeks ago.

It's the longest we've ever gone without contact.

I still can't believe what I said, and I refuse to tell anyone about it because – Christ, it makes me seem like a terrible person.

The worst part, of course, is that it's exactly the type of thing one of her old boyfriends probably told her. And I was supposed to be the one who offered her more than that. That's what I always promised her.

And look what I've done.

She refuses to take my calls, so I've written her a letter:

_E –_

_I've taken you for granted. You're wonderful and talented and gorgeous and I'm a complete bastard for making you feel I thought otherwise. _

_I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me for my stupidity. _

_Love,_

_ESC _

I tuck the letter inside the Sennelier custom photo album I bought her and placed a print she did of herself last year on the cover. I beg her roommate, Caroline, to meet me at Fauchon – her favorite luxury grocer – to pick up the package.

"_T'es fou_," Caroline says, looking over it. I wrapped it in pages from _New York Times_ _Magazine_, Ellie's favorite.

I shrug. "_Mais oui_," I say. "_L'amour est fou._"

She gives me a questioning look, but doesn't inquire further.

"_Bon_," she said. "_Je te souhaite beaucoup de chance."_

"_Merci_," I say. "_Et Joyeux Noel_."

"_Toi aussi." _

I arrive in San Francisco three days later. Ellie still hasn't contacted me, but I'm more preoccupied about mum at the moment.

After surviving yet another landing (they absolutely terrify me), I walk through the terminal toward baggage claim. Mum, of course, is not here to welcome me back. I'm all alone now.

I gather my things and walk toward public transport when a "St. Clair" sign catches my eye. It's a rather strange sight, as it's not a common name in these parts.

"Excuse me," I say, approaching the tall, older gentleman holding the sign. "I can't imagine that's for me?"

"Is your name Elton?" he asks. I laugh. My name always gets butchered beyond recognition here.

"Étienne," I say, extending my hand. "A pleasure."

"Your mother arranged for this," the gentleman says as we walk toward the private transport area. "We'll be at the hospital in about 20 minutes, depending on the traffic."

We ride through the city and it's oddly bleak and beautiful in the rain. I never liked San Francisco much – it's not the city, more the experiences I've had here – but it feels okay to be back.

The driver leaves me at the hospital entrance, informing me that my baggage will be left with the doorman of my mum's flat.

"Thank you," I say, handing him a $50 for his service.

"No, thank you, sir," he says, genuinely touched by the gesture. "Happy holidays to you and your family."

I smile and go toward the visitor's desk, my palms sweaty with nerves. The woman behind the desk is gorgeous. She's probably 30, but I try my best to charm her anyway. Anything to distract myself from my increasingly worried state.

"Here's your pass, dear," she says, handing me a green plastic card. "Remember you've only got an hour or so."

"Of course," I say. "But we won't tell anyone if I stay longer, right?"

I flash her my most charming grin and she laughs. "I know nothing," she says, covering her ears.

I take the elevator up to mum's floor and walk toward her room, grateful that no one else I know is around. It's one of the few times I'm happy to be completely and utterly alone.

"Mum," I say, entering the door. I thought it would be worse, but not much worse than what lays before me.

"Étienne," she says softly, her smile bringing some life back to her face. "I'm so happy you're here."

We hug and her body feels like bones. My eyes start to well with tears.

"Me too," I say, my voice strained.

"It's okay, dear," she says. "I know it's hard, but we're going to get through this like we always do. Your father – "

To my surprise, I sob in a way I never thought or ever wanted to be possible. I rarely cry, even under circumstances where most people would.

"I'm sorry, mum," I say between sobs. "I'm really, really sorry."

She pats my back reassuringly like she used to do when I'd injure myself in a childhood prank or adventure.

I wish this time I could be the one to tell her everything was going to be all right.

"Stop apologizing," she says. "I'm fighting with everything I've got – you know that, right? We just have to take it one day at a time."

I nod. I catch a glance of myself in the hospital room mirror and barely recognize it. My eyes are bloodshot and I suddenly look exhausted and worn. _I've got to calm down. This isn't helping anymore_.

I manage to relax a bit, and we pass the next hour talking as we normally would. I can tell mum's worried about me, but she's not prodding me for more information. I'm almost grateful for it.

A young nurse knocks at the door.

"We're ready for you, Mrs. St. Clair," she says. "I'll give you a few moments?"

"Yes, thank you, Lisa," she says calmly.

They're starting the internal radiation treatments today. Neither my father or I will be able to see her much these next few days. We're only allowed a half hour, at most, so our exposure to the radiation is minimal.

"All right," she says, turning toward me. "It's time."

I bite my thumbnail out of habit, thinking of the right thing to say before I leave.

"You'll have no nails left if you keep going like that," she says, chuckling. "Go back to the flat and get some rest, okay?"

Right. The flat. Where my father is. Brilliant.

"Your father is in meetings all day, but I told him to leave an extra key with the doorman," she says. "Be sure to ask for that when you arrive."

"Right," I say. "Got it."

"I know you do," she says, looking at me with pride in her eyes. "And no matter what happens, you always will."

She wraps me in another hug, comforting me when I should be comforting her. _Maybe I'm not an adult just yet._

"Good luck, mum," I say. "I love you."

The nurse comes back into the room and I step back as an entire team prepares her for treatment. My mum takes a deep breath, looking toward me. She mouths a goodbye to me and I exit the room.

I can't get out of there fast enough. I walking slowly, then quickly, then feel myself run until I nearly smash myself into the automated doors of the hospital exit. Though I'm not hurt, it makes me feel even more panicked. My heart races, my breath quickens, and I feel like I'm going to faint.

I walk outside the door for air and find the young nurse from before there, smoking a cigarette.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"I think I will be," I say. "I just need a…few moments."

I lean myself against the building, willing myself to calm down. She's no longer laughing with me, laughing at my bravado. She's seeing the real me, and it concerns her.

I don't like feeling this exposed.

"Here," she says, pulling out a business card from her pocket. "These are the contact details of a support line – for patients' families."

I take it and put it in my trouser pocket.

"I'm not telling you to do it," she adds, carefully. "But I think it's good to know the option's there."

"Well," I say. "I do appreciate it."

And I do. With just a simple gesture, she's offered more support to me than most people in my life. You know, like my father, who I'll have to spend these holidays dealing with.

_Great_.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Slight revisions made in January 2012.

I can tell he's here even before I see him.

His voice echoes down the purple-coloured entry hall of mum's flat. I take off my boots and walk slowly toward my room, hoping he won't hear.

He's on the phone, using language that suggests a mistress on the other end of the line.

"_Chez moi ou chez toi, mon amour_?"

I fight back my anger as I silently reach my door, careful not to disturb anything.

My room is exactly as I left it. Books in one corner, BBC documentaries and historical films in another. Mum's old vinyl albums line the walls, interspersed with photos I took of Paris during my first-year photography class.

Even as everything changes around me, there's something comforting in seeing everything the same.

I lay on my old rickety bed, faking sleep until my father leaves. It doesn't take him very long. Knowing him, he probably chose _not_ to hear my arrival. _Perfect_.

I call Ellie up and, to my surprise, she answers.

"St. Clair, heeeeey!," she slurs. "How are you?"

"How are you there?"

"I'm awesome, but I totally wish you were here!" she says.

_She does? _

"Everyone's going to ask about you!," she continues. "We're going to have, like, 150 people here and they're all bringing champagne. Champagne! Hmmmm, and cheese and so many delicious things and – oh my God!"

I hear a crash and bang in the background. I imagine one of the Upper East Side's fair maidens colliding with a dessert tray and stifle back a laugh.

"What's wrong?" I ask as seriously as I can manage.

"Oh, you know, just the usual chaos before a big event," she says dismissively. "By the way, I _love_ your gift. It's so me, and you, and…I'm really looking forward to seeing you soon."

"You are?" I ask. "I thought you – "

"What are the holidays without a bit of forgiveness?" she says. "Maybe we just need to listen to each other more, you know? Like give this all the best we have. How are you, anyway?"

She's clearly drunk – again – and not making much sense, but she forgives me. That's all I care about.

"I'm doing all right," I say. "Got in earlier today, went to see mum. She's – "

"Ugh!" she says. "Would you cut it out, Lucas? Paulina is going to kill you for that."

More bangs and clatter in the background. _Christ_. These sound worse than the parties we go to in Paris.

"I gotta go, babe," she says. "This is quickly turning into a code red disaster here. Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Christmas," I say, but she's already off the line.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Slight revisions made in January 2012.

What a brilliant New Year's this is turning out to be.

Mum's back home, but she's still not feeling right. And while I'm happy to have her back, I'm still on edge about it. I'm not exactly qualified to save her should she take a turn for the worse.

I've distracted myself with calls and emails to Ellie – and Anna – every single day. My father is usually somewhere, hovering in the background, so I keep the focus on them instead of me. No need for him to know anything more than he already does.

As I type another email to Anna, I think of how I'm oddly following in my father's footsteps. Though I wouldn't admit it to anyone, I'm subconsciously trying to start a relationship with one girl while I have a relationship with another.

I'm trying to get my way without getting anything at all.

Of course, this wouldn't have happened if that whole Sideburns thing worked out. But, naturally, he was the complete wanker I expected.

He's been sleeping with Anna's best friend for a month or so, and no one bothered to tell Anna until she got back home. I feel terrible about it all, mainly because I know how hard Anna is on herself that she's not yet – well, you know.

_Sigh._

It's so frustrating. I wish there were something I could do but, of course, I can't. Not without turning into my father, at least. It's enough that, when I look at him, I see myself in 25, 30 years. I mean, it's not like he ever listened to his parents when it came to matters of the heart. And yet here I've been, following his directives, all because of the money he holds over mum and me.

It's the one time I wish I weren't like my mum. She never thinks of herself or what she wants – she just follows my father's orders. I don't know how she does it.

As the day progresses, I'm surprised to see no e-mails from Anna. I try her mobile, but it goes directly to voicemail. Fuck. _Why can't I just leave well enough alone? _

I turn on the telly and start watching the annual James Bond marathon, calling Anna every hour on the hour. It's not like she'll see all the calls anyway if her phone's off. _Right?_

By the tenth attempt, though, I've given up. This is not how I wanted to spend New Years. At least my father's going back to Paris tomorrow. That's probably the only thing going my way.

I check my e-mail again to see if Anna's sent anything. Nope.

_Think, Etienne, think._ Let's see, Anna's mum is a researcher. Something with animals, I think. She's got to be connected to some university there in Georgia.

_Brilliant_. I start plugging in the information in Google and find her mother's faculty page. Her name's Elizabeth, Dr. Elizabeth.

_Oh God, I need to stop watching this marathon. _

I go to the Atlanta white pages online and search under her mum's name. Turns out there's only one – Dr. Elizabeth Oliphant, (404) 555-3029.

I consider whether I should actually call now. Will Anna think I've gone completely mad? I go to browser preferences and delete everything. I want no evidence of my desperation.

I ring her up despite myself. We ring in the New Year on the East Coast and West Coast with her. By 1 am my time, we've turned away from another terribly Seacrest New Year and returned to the Bond marathon.

"I love what they did with _Casino Royale_," she says. "It totally reinvigorated the franchise. Daniel Craig is _amazing_."

"You find him attractive?" I ask.

"Maybe I do," she says, laughing. "But you can't tell me you don't find what's-her-name hot."

"What can I say," I respond. "I've always liked girls with dark brown hair."

"She's certainly better than Denise Richards," she says, ignoring my last comment. "And more realistic, too. I mean, I don't think anyone was convinced she was a nuclear scientist."

"I'm still not convinced she's even an actress," I say, laughing.

We joke and laugh and talk some more until Anna's voice and responses start to slow down. I suspect she's falling asleep but fighting it somehow. We've been on the phone for 6 hours. _Christ._

"Anna?" I ask.

No response.

"Ahhh-nuh," I say.

"Hmmm, what?" she says.

"Were you sleeping there?"

"Just resting my eyes," she says.

"You're such a terrible liar," I say, laughing. "It is practically morning there. We should probably hang up."

"Oh my God!" she says. "I had no idea it was so late, I mean, early!"

Anna's voice sounds deeper, sultrier from her tired state. I hear her breathing get deeper, like she's drifting off again. I'm mesmerized. Neither of us says anything for minutes.

"Anna," I finally say.

"St. Clair," she whispers.

"Get some rest, all right?"

"Thanks for staying up with me tonight," she says. "It was really sweet of you to call."

"The pleasure was all mine," I say. "Happy new year."

"Happy, happy…"

Her phone clicks off and I soon fall asleep on the couch, thinking only of happy, happy Anna.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Slight revisions made in January 2012.

When we arrive back at SOAP shortly after New Year's, the weather is mild – like San Francisco in April.

It feels like a rebirth, a renewal.

Josh and I celebrate our return to school with our traditional meal at _Breakfast in America_, even though we just came back from America. It was his idea, of course. Josh practically inhales food.

"I can't believe you ate that many Corn Flakes," I say, glancing at the half-dozen empty bowls around him. "Was that the entire box?"

"The boxes are smaller here," Josh says. "It was equivalent to a quarter American box."

"It's all going to go straight to your hips," I say.

"And ruin my girlish figure?" he asks. "Whatever will I do!"

He sighs dramatically and brings a hand to his forehead, pretending he's about to faint. "You're being ridiculous," I say, throwing sugar packets at him.

"Says the guy who's chasing after two girls."

"Come on, now. Don't make me sound like my father."

"I'm not saying you are him," he says. "I'm just saying you're going to hurt someone if you don't make a decision soon."

"Right," I say. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think all of us have already gotten hurt by this bloody mess. It's a nightmare."

Josh nods, and I'm thankful he's not passing judgment on me. He almost seems sympathetic, as though he might understand what it's liked to be pulled in different directions.

Our conversation is interrupted by my mobile, which rings to the tune of Bananarama's "Cruel Summer." If I were in the States, I'd be embarrassed – but here, in Paris, this sort of music is still popular.

Besides, it's Bananarama. Banana Anna.

"_Hôtel_ St Clair, _comment est-ce que je peux vous aider_?"

"Good morning to you, too," she says. "What are you up to?"

"Finishing breakfast with Josh," I say. "Then we're off to the Pantheon. Care to join?"

Josh makes kissing sounds in the background, forcing me to throw more sugar packets in his direction.

"Sure," she says. "I can be there in an hour. Will you still be there?"

"All day."

"Great," she says. "See you soon."

Anna hangs up, and Josh and I meander slowly from the restaurant toward our afternoon destination.

"So how were your holidays?" I ask.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he says. "Only this year, my mom forced me to wear Ralph Lauren in case we ended up in the _Post_ again."

"It could've been worse," I say. "It could've been J Crew."

"Or Abercrombie," he says. "Then I'd look like Mike and Dave."

"Noooo," I say. "Afraid I can't tolerate that. I think SOAP has already reached its quota of wankers for the year."

He laughs as we find a spot on the steps to sit. Josh works on his sketches while I skim through a tattered Napoleon biography from my favorite used bookstore in San Francisco.

I glance at my watch every few minutes, wondering when Anna will arrive. I think we would both agree we've become closer over the holidays, though what that exactly means in the new year, I'm unsure of right now.

I swear, I become an insecure mess thinking about her sometimes.

After a dozen glances, I spot her in the distance. She looks beautiful, as always, but different somehow. I can't quite pinpoint it. I glance back down, almost afraid to make eye contact, until she's almost right in front of me.

Our eyes finally meet.

"Anna!"

I drop my book, almost by instinct, and stand to greet her. My arms wrap around hers – like Josh isn't there, like no one else we know could possibly be around – and I feel her heart _thump thump thump_ against my chest. My heart does the same.

Sometimes it has a mind of its own.

"Hey," she breathes as I let go of her. She practically tumbles down the steps, but I catch her.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

"Yeah. Great. Super!"

We stay there, awkwardly silent, as I look her over. Her hair's changed. Her lips, too. _Did she put on makeup before she came here?_

"I have something for you," I say, closing my fist around the banana bead I bought her for Christmas. "It's not much, so don't get excited."

"Oh, what is it?" Anna asks.

I see Josh smirking from the corner of my eye. He focuses more intently on his notebook. I can tell he's trying very hard not to scream "I told you so!"

"Étienne!" she pleads. "Come on!"

Her face reddens in the sunlight. She's embarrassed, but it doesn't matter.

She is right – I am Étienne, I am not St. Clair. I am not the privileged, charming English bloke whom everyone loves. I'm the intensely introspective, overly confident, incredibly insecure bloke whose only privilege in life is his mum, not his wealth. The bloke who is terrified of change, of heights, and of the abandonment he knew not so long ago.

With Anna, I know I can be Étienne without apology.

But first, I'll have to get St. Clair out of the way.


	13. Chapter 13

I finally accepted Berkeley's offer – and found a way to ensure no one finds out.

It took lots of charming and pleading and begging on two continents, but it's done. The deposit is there. Now I just have to think of a way to get myself there and get myself away from my father's grasp, once and for all.

"You're in good mood for such a miserably cold day," Ellie says, pouring me a glass of wine from the bottle on her dresser. I'm sitting on her bed and we're both fully clothed. It's our new normal.

"I can't help it," I say. "Things are looking all right at the moment."

She gives me a look of disbelief. I don't blame her. I honestly don't think I've been this happy since the first day of senior year.

"I'm happy to hear that, St. Clair," she says, taking a sip from her own glass. "I wish things were going as well here."

"I thought they were," I say.

And it's true. Ellie has become incredibly diligent recently, working hard to overcome the barely-passing grades she received last semester. She still goes out with friends sometimes and with me, of course – but it's all much tamer than before.

"It's this portfolio project," she says, pointing to the artwork strewn near her nightstand. "It's a huge part of my studio grade. I can't mess it up."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not really," she says. "I've got to do this all on my own."

"Well, then," I say, raising my glass to hers. "To the successful completion of your project."

"And to whatever it is you're up to these days," she says, and our glasses clink against each other.

"Just all the nonsense you had to do last year," I say.

She laughs and we continue to talk and drink more wine, keeping a close – but not too close – distance between us. With everything going on, it just doesn't seem right to go any further. We really haven't, anyway. Not since before Christmas.

"I can't believe we finished this bottle," Ellie says, laying herself down on her bed. "I was hoping the wine would inspire me. But all I want to do now is sleep."

"When has wine ever inspired either of us?" I ask, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"There was that one time," she says. "When I had to write that history paper. And you and I drank so much that we started acting out important moments in French history in the hallway at Lambert."

"I do remember my Napoleon was absolutely brilliant," I say, laughing. "You were supposed to write them down, I thought. Save them for future exams."

"History was never my subject," she says. "I knew I wouldn't need it. But it's always been yours."

She smiles at me, almost wistfully. It makes me think back to when we first started dating, when Ellie was more like this. When we seemed more similar than different. When she wasn't so hyper and I wasn't so keen. When it was easier to defend my choices, before all the parties and the parents and the disasters changed us forever.

"Let's get some rest," she says, patting the empty space next to her on the bed.

I lay down next to her, my mind full of memories. She wraps her arms around me reassuringly, but it just makes me feel uneasy. I know I don't love her anymore.

But I also know I can't hurt her anymore. I know I can't break away, not until San Francisco.

And I can only hope that my best mate will be there, waiting for me.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Slight revisions made in January 2012.

A month later, I'm preparing for mid-terms, studying until my eyes feel cross and I can barely see straight.

"Hey," Meredith says, knocking at my door. "We're going to go down and study for a bit. You wanna come?"

"Sure," I say. "It's what I've been planning to do all day today."

"Great," she says. "We'll probably have cake for Anna later."

"I thought her birthday was next week?"

"I'm sure she won't get upset you forgot," she says. "I mean, you barely remember your own birthday."

Which is true, but not for the reasons Meredith thinks. _Shite._ We end up planning properly for Anna's birthday festivities after eating a ridiculous amount of Girl Scout biscuits and, of course, doing more studying.

"Let's not sit here all evening," Josh says. "Let's go out."

"But I like staying in," Anna says.

"Let's get Anna drunk!" Rash suggests.

Anna starts to squirm a bit uncomfortably. I know she'd rather just go to the cinema than a pub. But we've all been under a lot of stress lately. We could use a holiday from that.

"Not drunk," I chime in. "Just…happy."

"Happy birthday drunk," Josh says, smiling back at Rash.

"Happy," I insist. "Come on, Anna. I know the perfect place to celebrate."

She reluctantly agrees, but I'm confident she won't feel that way for long. We head out to my favorite place – the English ex-pat spot where Josh and I memorably, or not so memorably, got pissed on Halloween.

"I can't believe this is where you were thinking," Josh says to me. "I'm surprised you haven't started puking just at the sight of it."

"Oh, piss off," I say. "We won't get pissed this time. Just..."

"Speak for yourselves," Rash says, approaching us with a couple shots in her hand. "I already bought Anna her second drink."

"Let's not get too carried away, all right?" I say. "Anna's clearly never drunk before."

"Yes, father," Rash says sarcastically, downing her shot. "We'll make sure your precious Anna doesn't get wasted tonight."

"Come on," I say. "Stop acting like that."

"You're always trying to protect her," she says. "Am I the only one who sees what's really going on here?"

She looks to Josh to back her up. He silently nods, caught between his girlfriend and his best mate. I bite at my thumbnail, calming myself down. There's no need to escalate this conversation.

"Come on, Josh," she says, giving me a dirty look. "Let's dance."

Josh follows, turning back to me with a classic 'what was I supposed to do?' look. I can't blame him, though. I've been there before.

Meredith finds me and walks over to join up. It's been forever since we've had a conversation on our own.

"How have you been holding up?" she shouts. The evening band is warming up, their sound check clashing with the music system.

"I'm fine," I shrug. "Thank you for asking."

I order lager for both of us and we turn to watch the band.

"I was really worried about you," Meredith continues. "I'm glad to see you're back to yourself again."

"Almost," I say. "Mum's still not in the clear yet. We won't find out if she's cancer-free until next month."

"Well," she says. "I hope she is. It sounds like she's been doing well, all things considered."

_Sigh_. I really don't feel like talking about this right now. _One pint, two pints, three pints, four._ I scan the crowd, searching for one of the others to save me.

And that's when she lurches toward me, her face nearly touching my own.

"Dance with me," Anna commands.

She's pissed. Really pissed. But who I am to turn down the birthday girl?

"All right," I say, handing my glass to Meredith. "Let's dance."

I follow Anna and watch as her long legs shimmer in the stage lights, her short skirt accentuating her every curve. I can't stop looking, can't stop picturing her in ways I definitely know I shouldn't.

Anna finds a spot for us on the packed dance floor. The band, now fully warmed up, launches into a Vampire Weekend cover, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

"Hey, hey, hey!," Anna sings, shouting at the top of her lungs. "Hey, hey, hey!"

She dances without a care in the world. She's wickedly gorgeous. She pulls me closer for the next song, a cover of Yelle's "_Que veux-tu_."

My heart races. My eyes close. My mind starts to lose control.

She has no idea what she's doing to me right now.

"You're a great dancer," she shouts, moving her mouth toward my ear. "But can you move like this?"

She turns herself around and wraps her arms around my neck. I hold her tighter, tighter, as she pushes against me. My head instinctively turns down. My lips graze against her bare shoulder as I glance down her shirt.

_Christ. _

The world dissolves around us, so much so that I am startled when the band ends its set.

"You're a decent dancer yourself, birthday girl," I whisper in her ear. She practically falls in response, dragging me with her.

"Best _anniversaire_ ever!" she shouts, mixing her languages like pissed Americans are wont to do in Paris. "Why didn't I drink before, Étienne?"

"Because you like following rules," I say.

"Rules, _schmules_," she says, swaying a bit. "I am eighteen now. I am an _adulte_. _Vive la France!_"

She grasps at the bar, trying to steady herself, as a familiar voice shouts profanities in the background.

"_Va te faire enculer!"_

"_Pardon_?" I say, turning around to see…Caroline. Ellie's roommate. _Great._

"I can't believe this," she says in French. "You're such a prick!"

"My friend and I were just dancing," I say, nodding at Anna. "It's her birthday."

"You looked like you were fucking," she says. "Ellie was _thrilled_ to learn all about it."

"You didn't," I say, fairly certain Anna can't understand the conversation.

"Oh, but I did," she says. "And she is furious. You two are _done_."

She huffs and turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

"Fuck," I say, patting my coat frantically. "Where's my phone?"

"Use mine!" Anna says.

"I can't use yours," I say. "She'll know. She'll fucking know."

"Who will know?" she asks. "What are you even talking about?"

I bolt out the door, trying to find a quiet area where I can call Ellie, but Anna is right behind me.

"Arrrrrggggh!"

"What's going on?"

I tell Anna of Ellie's suspicious and why Caroline wants to bloody murder me. She looks so surprised, so innocent, that I wonder how she couldn't have known any of this.

"It's been falling apart for so long, but I'm just not ready for it."

"Why not, _St. Clair_? Why aren't you ready for it?"

She starts kicking and screaming at a lamppost and I just want her to stop – but I can't even stop myself anymore.

"Anna. _Anna_!"

"What's happening here?" Rashmi asks, approaching us. Meredith and Josh stand near her, their faces in shock. Meredith looks on the verge of tears.

"It's all right," I say. "She's just a little drunk."

"I am _not drunk._"

"You are, and I am, and this is ridiculous," I say. "Let's go home."

She refuses.

"Just tell me one thing," she says, walking toward Rashmi. "Why are you still with her?"

It's the question that has always lingered between us, left unspoken.

"Because I don't want to be alone right now."

"You weren't alone, _asshole_," she says.

And she's right. I'm not alone. I could be with her. I want to be with her.

But I know it's not that simple. I promised myself I wouldn't hurt Ellie again. What if she goes off to my father, telling him all I've done? What if he takes our allowance away? It won't matter if I'm in love or not – mum and I will be left with nothing.

I wait a few beats, until I know Anna and everyone else is gone, and head toward the metro, back to Dupleix. I laugh bitterly to myself, thinking of all the times I've done this before. Running back to Ellie when everything goes straight to hell.

I knock until Ellie answers her door. She opens it only halfway, her fingers covered in newsprint and ink. We stand awkwardly at its threshold.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here," Ellie says. "How could you?"

"We were just dancing," I say. "I swear it."

"Of course," she says sarcastically. "How could I be so presumptuous?"

"We were drunk," I say. "We all dance with whomever's around when we're drunk."

"This is different," Ellie says. "You have feelings for her."

I should tell her she's wrong – but I can't bring myself to do it.

"I thought we were getting better again," she continues, her eyes filling with tears. "I know we haven't slept together this year, but I thought we were rebuilding everything. I can't _believe_ how wrong I was."

"Don't cry," I say as soothingly as possible.

"Easy for you to say," she says. "You're the one who's moving on."

I never thought we'd turn into this. It's strange how life sometimes turns out exactly the way you don't expect it to.

"We are changing," I say. "I don't think anyone can deny that. But I still care about you very much, Ellie. Even if everything's completely fucked up now, I want you to know that."

"I don't know…if it's worth it anymore."

"I'm sorry, Ellie."

"Me too."

She shuts her door and forces me back into the night.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Slight revisions and significant changes at end of chapter made in January 2012.

I'm completely, utterly miserable.

The past weeks have been the worst.

Anna has finally made it clear what she wants – and, like the fool I am, I can't give it to her. Even if my supposed girlfriend is, once again, barely speaking to me.

"I don't know how you do it, man," Josh says to me after lunch one March afternoon. "Can't you and Anna just kiss and make up?"

"I don't think Dave would like that," I say bitterly.

Yes, that's right – Anna and my idiot neighbor have started going out. As if things couldn't get worse.

"That guy's a jerk," Josh says. "You can't let Anna continue to see him."

"How I can tell her to break up with her boyfriend when I can't even break up with my own bloody girlfriend?" I ask.

"Well, one of us better think of something soon," he says. "Before he sleeps with her."

_Ugh_. I feel like I've punched. Of all the guys she could possibly sleep with! This is _not _going to happen.

"Can you talk to Rash about it?" I ask. "Maybe she can talk some sense into her."

"She's closer to Mer," he says. "I don't know if she'd listen to Rash."

"You can't use Meredith," I say. "You know how she feels about me."

"Fine," Josh says, pulling out his mobile to send a text to Rash. "I'm on it."

He might not be doing much schoolwork anymore, but he still does what he needs to do to help his friends out.

"I owe you, mate."

I hear her crying before I can even see her. She's in the hallway, walking back to her room.

"Good night, Mer," I say, practically jumping out her bedroom door. No study session is more important than Anna's well-being.

"You and Higgenbaum have a nice time?" I ask. _Of course they didn't have a nice time, you bastard. _

"Yes," she says. "Great. _Thank you_."

And then I see the tears fall down her face and my bitterness melts away. God, what did he do to her? I will kill that bloody –

"No!" she screams, holding me back from moving any further. "I'm locked out. I'm upset because I lost my stupid key."

_Phew_. I help her search for it, but we have no luck. I get her spare key from Nate, our resident advisor, and she tells me her and Dave and no more. She doesn't tell me exactly why, but I'm too happy about it to ask why.

I try to look neutral, though, because I know she's still upset about something. She was crying earlier today, too.

"Prom," she says. "Bridgette and Toph are going to prom. And I'll never go to one!"

"But…proms are lame," I say. "I thought you were glad we didn't have one."

"I was," she says, sniffling. "Until now."

I feel terrible again. She's had such a rough time lately, and I've contributed to it almost as much as her former best friend and would-be boyfriend. I can only offer words at this point.

"Think about it, Anna," I say. "She'll get dolled up in one of those satin monstrosities no rational girl would ever wear, and they'll take one of those awful photos –

"The photo," she moans.

"No, Anna, they're awful," I say. The uncomfortable poses and the awkward slogans – "

We walk slowly up the stairwell, en route to our respective rooms, and create the most ridiculous imaginary prom ever for Bridgette and Toph. She finally cracks a smile, and I grin. "That's more like it," I say.

Our eyes meet in the darkness. Neither of us can look away. She rests her head on my shoulder.

"Thank you, Étienne," she says.

She puts her hands around mine and holds it tightly. The feelings come rushing back, all the thoughts and things left unsaid. I want her to say my name again, to whisper it in my ear.

_I love you_, _Étienne._

_I love you, Anna._

I know it can't be far away.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Significant changes made to introduction and ending made in January 2012.

It's the first real day of spring – and, for once, I wake up practically euphoric.

Mum no longer has cancer.

She called last night, straight from the doctor's office. I've never felt so grateful in my life.

My father apparently felt the same. He told mum I could stay in San Francisco for the entire summer. Of course, he still doesn't know about Berkeley. But I don't care. I'll take what I can get.

I throw on a shirt and jeans and run down to the common area.

"Hey," I say, greeting everyone.

"You're late," Rashmi says. "Again."

"We'll still be on time, Rash," Mer says.

Rashmi rolls her eyes. "Where were you, anyway?" she asks. "You look _really_ happy. Unnaturally happy."

"My mum called last night," I say. "She's in remission."

"Get out!" Anna screams, leaping up to give me a hug.

"That's awesome," Josh says.

"I knew it would work out!" Meredith says. She gets up to hug me as well, forcing Anna to break away from me and return to her chair.

"Sorry, I just assumed – ," Rash says, still seated.

"It's all right," I say. "I know I haven't been as reliable as I used to be. But I promise, all that will change…starting today."

Everyone breaks into polite golf claps. Anna stares intently at her mobile.

"Well, this calls for a celebration," Josh says. "Let's watch Meredith kick some ass at soccer and get crepes after."

"It'll be my treat," I say.

We arrive at the indoor field and find a place to sit all together. I suddenly feel a sense of adventure – of mischief, really – that I haven't felt in a long time.

"You know," I say, turning to Anna. "I really can't stand football."

"And you call yourself an Englishman!"

"When it suits me," I say, smirking.

"You're too much, sometimes," she says. "You know that, Étienne?"

"Well, I just think we should be outside," I say, nudging against her shoulder. "It hasn't been this nice out in ages. Is that so wrong?"

"But we promised Mer," she protests. "You know how much this means to her."

"Fine," I say. "Fifteen minutes. We'll go to the park and come back before the match's end. She'll never know we left."

She looks at me questioningly.

"I'll even set my alarm," I say, pulling out my mobile.

"Fine," she says. "As long as you let me set it."

Anna sets the alarm while Meredith and her teammates come out onto the field. The game begins, but mind wanders to the park I plan on showing Anna. It's _Jardin du Luxembourg_, the most famous in Paris. I know she'll love it, and there'll be plenty to show her, but all I can think about are the hidden areas, the parts where I, where we –

At fifteen minutes, we silently leave the seating area. My mobile flashes with a new message alert once we're outside. It's from Josh.

-_Where do you think you're going?_

-_Jardin du Luxembourg. Anna's never been._

-_Behave yourself_.

-_Thanks, Mer. _

-_You're terrible_.

"Who's that?" Anna asks.

"Josh," I say. "He's jealous we got out."

"Oh," she says distractedly. "So what park are we going to?"

"This one," I say, turning the corner and leading her through one of the entrance gates. "_Jardin du Luxembourg_."

Her face lights up. "How did I _not_ know about this place before?" she squeals.

"It's the best park in Paris," I say.

"I bet it's the best park in the world," she says dreamily, her eyes still wide in amazement.

She pulls out her camera for everything I show her – the orchard, the numerous fountains, the perfectly-manicured shrubbery. It's cute to see her in tourist mode again.

We find a spot to rest along the Grand Bassin, the park's centrepiece. We lay down next to each other in a comfortable silence, our gaze fixed on the vibrant blue sky.

Before too long, my mobile alarm vibrates in my trouser pocket.

"Anna?" I say, turning to her. "Anna, we have to go."

She's fallen asleep. _I can't wake her now, can I?_ I feel calm, happy. I start to drift off to sleep, until I catch an odd shape approaching us from the corner of my eye.

I sit myself up to find a toy sailboat approaching. It's zooming so fast, there's no time to catch it.

"Anna!" I say. "Anna, wake up!"

"Hmmm?"

"There's a sailboat in your hair."

"What?"

"A sailboat," I say. "In your hair."

She tries to get up but snaps right back down.

"Help!" she says. I struggle to untangle her hair as a young boy, the boat's presumable captain, approaches and tries to take it out of the bassin himself.

"Ouch!" Anna screams.

"_Arrête-toi,_" I say to the boy. "_Tu peux pas toucher les cheveux d'une jeune femme comme ça. C'est pas gentil."_

"_Mais j'veux mon bateau…maintenant!_,_" _he says.

"_Faut que tu t'attends, d'accord?," _I say sternly, and he quickly jumps back from the boat. After a few more minutes, I finally get it out of Anna's hair. She looks relieved.

"_Bon_," I say, handing it back to him. "_N'oublie pas d'être plus prudent avec ces bateaux."_

"_Vous êtes bizarre, Monsieur,"_ he says, running away from the bassin. I can't believe he called me sir. Like I'm one of those elderly gentlemen across the way playing _boules_. 

I turn back to Anna, who's laughing hysterically.

"I didn't realize you were so old."

"Come on," I say, ignoring her. "Let's get out of here."

I stand and offer her my hand to join me. She takes it. It feels so right, so perfect inside my own.

I can't even imagine how late we are now. I just don't care anymore. I'm tired of trying to please everyone. I know now that life can change at any moment. And when it does, I don't want to look back with any more regrets.

I lead Anna to the pink blossom trees, away from the exits. We sit side-by-side on the grass, staring back over the Grand Bassin.

Her hand is still in mine.

I squeeze it tightly, willing her to do something, _anything_, to confirm what I've hoped for and wanted for so long.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

She doesn't answer, but neither of us is backing down. It's like a game. I feel my head tilt toward hers. I feel her lips brush against mine.

"If you ask me to kiss you," I say. "I will."

I stroke the inside of her wrists. She shivers against my touch.

"Kiss me," she whispers.

We kiss and kiss and it's exactly how I imagined in my mind so many times before. It's only when I feel her moan against my lips that I realize – _this is actually happening_.

Everything around me…dissolves.

I push her back onto the grass and she smiles up at me, her eyes full of desire. My mind goes into overdrive. All I can feel are her hands, her lips, her legs wrapped tightly around me.

"I want –," I start, but I'm interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

_Shite._

I still myself, hoping I have a couple moments to regain my composure for the lawn police. _I'll talk us out of it. It'll be fine._

Anna gives me a confused look, but there's no time to explain.

"How could you?" a voice cries.

I turn around and see…Meredith.

_Fuck_.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Significant revisions were made to this chapter in January 2012.

I'm immediately snapped out of my daze.

"Mer!" I scream, chasing after her.

She runs quickly past Josh and Rashmi – who I nearly missed seeing right behind her – and goes toward the maze of shrubbery near the Grand Bassin.

Her trainers pound furiously against the ground.

"Stop it!" she screams, choking back tears. "Just leave me alone!"

She slows down and I finally catch up with her. Her face is stained with tears.

I feel like hell. Mer's always fancied me. And while I like her very much as a friend – a close one, at that – I've never been able to reciprocate those feelings. We never talked about it because, I presumed, neither of us wanted to change our world.

Perhaps I was wrong.

"Mer," I say quietly. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen."

"Of course," she says, letting out a bitter laugh. "Your tongue just _accidentally_ found its way down Anna's throat."

I try to find a calming breath. This is not going to be easy.

"I should have been more upfront. I should have told you how I felt about Anna."

"And how you didn't feel about me," she says. Her voice quivers. _Please don't cry anymore._

"You're a great person."

She shakes her head.

"I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. And I know you'll meet someone just as great as you. Someone who will be better for you than I could ever be."

"Easy for you to say," she says. "Everyone loves you. You've never been turned down before…and that's all I ever _been_."

"Nothing is ever as it seems," I say. "We all have our problems."

She looks down at me in disbelief, but it's true. My life is far from charmed. She used to know that as well as anyone else in our group.

"Whatever," she says dismissively. "I'm not going to let you ruin anything else for me today. I'm off to a team party."

She never goes to those parties. She must really hate me now. She might never _not_ hate me.

As she turns to leave, I start my slow walk back toward the main part of the park. I imagine Anna has already left, probably with Josh and Rash.

I can't bear to look.

I don't want Anna to think this was some sort of fluke. I've got to get things sorted out before I see her again.

I've got to break up with Ellie.


	18. Chapter 18

Considering the incredible highs I've had today, it makes sense that my evening has been full of absolute lows.

I find myself dragging my boots along the streets of Ellie's neighborhood. There's only a few spots she could be in at this time – her apartment, her makeshift studio at the school, or her favorite café bar.

Guess where I find her.

"St. Clair?" she asks, seeing me at doorway. I walk in and see that she's flanked by a group of friends I vaguely recognize from our fall party marathon. Bottles and ashtrays are strewn across their table.

"Hey," I say, nodding at her companions. "Do you mind if I steal her away for a few minutes?"

"By all means," one of the girls says, giving me a flirty smile. _With friends like these…_

"Sorry, girls," she says, smiling. "I'll be right back."

I follow Ellie to the back near the toilets – the place where we always had our private conversations and other adventures. She sways her hips seductively to the beat of the café's music, like she always does, and I try my best to ignore it.

Once we're out of sight of everyone, though, her whole demeanor changes. Her face becomes serious, her composure stiff and protective.

"Save it, St. Clair," she says, turning toward me to place a finger over my lips. "I know why you're here."

"You do?" I ask, panicked.

"I'm not stupid," she says quietly. "It's why you always come and find me."

"It's a little different this time," I say.

"Oh, really," she says. "Tell me, what did you do now?"

"It's not what I did," I say. "It's what I can't do anymore. Ellie…there is someone else. And it wouldn't be fair to you if I – if I made you think otherwise."

She stands there, motionless. I know beneath the surface she feels something. Even I feel something – even after all we've been through.

"Well," she says finally. "I imagine this will make my internship rather awkward this summer."

"I don't understand," I say.

"With your father at his gallery here," she says, as if I should have already known. "He offered it to me in the winter and, well, we were already having problems. I didn't want to make it any worse, you know?"

Now I know why she kept taking me back – it wasn't only to keep up appearances, it was because she wanted to establish herself away from her parents. And while the Kensington name will always influence the choices available to her, it was her relationship with me that got her introduced to my father. My terrible, terrible father.

His schemes know no bounds.

"I doubt that," I say. "He's always liked you."

She nods.

I want to be angry with her, but I can't. We've both been deceitful to each other. No one is more right or wrong than the other.

"I should really get back to my friends," she says, her voice expresionless. "Good night, St. Clair."

"Good night," I say, mimicking her unfeeling tone.

She dishevels her hair slightly and goes back toward her table, her head held high. One of her friends makes a joke and she laughs loudly.

I leave the café without looking back. And as I take the metro back to Lambert, I vow to never get involved with her again.

A/N: I decided to go in a different direction here – it's not as sympathetic a portrayal of Ellie as in the "Girlfriend" one-shot, but I think (hope) it fits better into the back story I've given Ellie and St. Clair's father in this fic.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** This and all other chapters have been revised in January 2012. I've added some more detail, backstory, and plot twists - hope you enjoy. Thanks again for all of your views and reviews!

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><p><em>A month later<em>

The queue outside Breakfast in America on _rue des Écoles_ is preposterous, even for May, the height of tourism season.

Josh insisted we spend our last meal together as a group here – even if it's his favourite place, not ours, and he'll still be able to come back next year.

"We should've just gone to McDonalds," Rashmi says.

"Now there's something I never thought you'd say," Josh says.

"Shut up," she says.

"Come on, guys," Mer interrupts. "It's our last meal together."

Though Rash and Josh broke up shortly after I split with Ellie, they still tease each other incessantly. I'm convinced they're still sleeping together.

"Fine," Josh says. "Last one in line pays the bill!"

Josh, Mer, and Rash sprint down the street while Anna and I lag behind, hand-in-hand. We're together now – just in time for our respective moves to San Francisco. I'll be at Berkeley, and Anna will be at film school in the city.

My father, of course, was his usual belligerent self when he found out about my plans. He hated the thought of Berkeley and insisted I accept the Sorbonne's offer of admission. I nearly resigned myself to it when Anna thought of a brilliant way to get him to let me join her in California.

It's just one of the reasons I love her.

"Wow," Anna says, laughing. "Josh does not mess around when it comes to food. I've never seen him run so fast."

"Hmmm," I say, turning to kiss her neck. "I can't really see from here."

"Étienne," she pleads. "We're out in public."

"Like that's stopped us before," I say, nibbling at her earlobe.

"I…I…I have to see my parents in a few hours," she says. "Let's plan for later on, okay?"

"All right," I say. "But I will absolutely hold you to that promise."

"Looking forward to it," she says, turning down to kiss me.

We join the others in the queue and it's just like it used to be. Rash and Josh are still bickering – this time, over which is the best American cereal, a completely pointless argument. Mer is chatting with another bloke in line about football. We're not as close as we once were, but we are friends again.

"Don't forget," Anna says. "You have to call your mom tonight."

"_Oui, madame_," I say. "I wouldn't worry, though. It should be all set."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she says. "My parents are going to flip."

"Doing what?" Rash asks, suddenly attuned to our conversation.

"Anna's going to come to San Francisco for a few weeks," I say. "So she can get acquainted with her new city."

"Of course," Rash says, laughing. "And she'll just happen to be with you 24/7, right?"

"Well," I say, smirking. "Her university literature was quite specific about the importance of learning outside the classroom."

Anna thwacks me on the shoulder. She does it so much these days I'm surprised it hasn't bruised yet.

"I've only been to San Francisco once," she says to Rash and Josh. "I'm going to have to place to live, a place to work…all before school begins. I'm not going to have time for surprises like I did here."

"Oh, come on," I say. "They weren't all bad."

She smiles and takes my hand.

"Well," she says. "There was one I especially liked."

"I thought you loved it," I say.

As if by instinct, we turn to each other at the same time and start kissing. The world melts away once again.

"Ugh," Rash says. "Get a room, you two."

"Maybe we will," I say, sticking my tongue out at her.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** It took six months but I finally updated (and finished) this fic. Thanks to everyone for your patience. I was going to go in a completely different direction for this one but ultimately decided to end it on this note. Outside of how Étienne develops in this story, I'd like to think that how Anna is portrayed in this chapter reflects how she might have changed after the book (when this chapter would take place). Hope you enjoy it!

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><p>After our meal, we all head our separate ways. Anna goes to meet her parents, and I go back to my room at Lambert. We both agreed that it's best to wait until graduation, and not before, to do formal introductions. Personally, I can't wait for her to meet mum, but I understand where Anna is coming from. Her parents are quite different from my own.<p>

I continue the arduous task of packing up my things that I started weeks ago. All the tattered books, the _Oxford English Dictionary_, the well-worn shirts and trousers. They'll all get shipped away tomorrow. I set aside the prints mum made of London, the drawing Josh did of me as Napoleon, and, of course, my favorite hat. Those will go with me on the aeroplane this weekend.

It's odd, but among all of these things and all these memories, I don't feel alone. I mean, sure, physically in this moment, I am totally alone. But I know who I am now and what I want – and whatever I haven't figured out yet, I know at some point I will. And that's something I've never had before.

Around 10 there's a slight knock at my door. "Étienne," she whispers. "I'm back."

I open the door slowly, letting her in without a sound. We might be out of here permanently in a few days, but there's still no need for my neighbours to know my personal business.

She closes the door carefully behind her and kisses me. "How did it go?" I whisper.

"Not bad," she says. "They were behaving much better than they did at Christmas. They were so happy to see me. Graduation might not be so painful after all."

"Perhaps they're waiting to take it out on me tomorrow," I say, laughing.

"I know they'll like you," she says, smiling. "Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the week after. But they eventually will."

"Such confidence!"

"Hey," she says, wrapping her arms around me. "You know what I mean. It's going to be really different for them, just like it's really different for me. None of us are used to this."

"You better get used to it, _banane_," I say, kissing her cheek. "I plan to be around for a while."

She smiles back at me. "I know you do," she says, holding me tighter. "And I do, too. But they'll think we're moving too fast. I know how they are – the whole summer visit to San Francisco might be asking for too much."

"There's adult supervision, a free guest room in the heart of the city, and your best friend as your tour guide," I say. "What more could they want for you?"

"Knowing that you won't sleep with me," she says matter-of-factly.

"Well, that's not true," I say.

"Étienne!" she says, blushing.

"It's cute you still blush at that," I say. "Really, it is."

"I don't want my parents to know about, you know…"

"No, please, enlighten me," I say. "I don't quite get what you're saying."

"That we've had sex," she finally whispers, scowling.

"Correction," I say. "That we _have_ sex. I mean, I hope it's still in the present."

"I think it is," she says, walking us back slowly away from the door. "I mean, I hear you're good at it."

"And who told you that?"

"Oh, you know, someone," Anna says. "She says you're always charming her and that you'd do anything for her. She says you're even moving thousands of miles away just to be with her."

"_C'est toute la verité_," I say as we reach the frame of my bed.

"_Pourquoi_?" she asks.

"Because I love her," I say. "More than she even knows."


End file.
